


Grief in Fire

by Loudest_Voice



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 04:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loudest_Voice/pseuds/Loudest_Voice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's disrespectful, perhaps, but Spock feels undeniable <i>relief</i> after Vulcan's destruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grief in Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Written a long while ago.

The destruction of his home planet finally forced Spock to accept that he would never be fully Human nor fully Vulcan. Even as he suffered through the pain of severed familial telepathic bonds, he could bask in the knowledge that there was no point in constantly monitoring his behavior to ensure that it always befit a true Vulcan. Had his mother been alive, she would have been as intensely happy as only a Human could be about his newly discovered sense of freedom.

“Spock.” Nyota’s uncharacteristically soft voice drew his attention away from the stark whiteness of the bedroom wall he’d been focusing on. Her elegant eyebrows were furrowed with concern. She raised a hand, probably to touch him, but then remembered basic protocol for interacting with touch-telepaths and laced her fingers together on her lap. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Knowing that I have your unconditional support is helpful.” It wasn’t really (logically, how _could_ it be?) but seeing her eyebrows relax and the tension leave her shoulders did ease one of the burdens on his psyche. _I love her._ Thinking it was also soothing, especially because it reminded him that he needn’t be ashamed of his feelings ever again. “I love you,” he said, mostly because he could.

A wide smile bloomed on Nyota’s face as she spread her arms and enveloped him in the tightest hug her frail Human arms could muster. The skin of their cheeks and necks came into contact and Spock was flooded by a rush of happiness underscored by grief, pain, and concern. “I love you too.”

Spock nodded and wrapped his arms around her waist, reminding himself to mind his strength. The fact that he had to remind himself of such a thing worried him almost as much as realizing how flimsy and inadequate his mental shields had been rendered. He needed to meditate. He breathed in the comforting scent of lilac soap on her cool brown skin and gently pushed away from her embrace, sliding a few centimeters away from her on the bed. “I require privacy.”

With a small nod, Nyota rose to her feet. “Remember to contact me if you want company,” she said. Her eyebrows had once again furrowed with tension. “Any time, all right?”

“Yes,” said Spock.

Nyota tried to smile but her lips seemed incapable of stretching to form anything other than a pained grimace. Her dark eyes widened and glistened and her chin trembled. For a terrifying moment, Spock thought that she would start crying. He was exceedingly grateful when she lowered her head and took in a deep breath. “I’ll go see how Christine is doing,” she said before whirling around and exiting her room.

Spock estimated an 87.42% probability that she would actually flee to her quarters and sob until she fell into an unsatisfactory sleep cycle. An adequate romantic partner would have called out after her and offered his support, but he was not an adequate anything. He sat crossed legged and straightened his spine before beginning a simple sequence of breathing exercises. Even though he no longer had an official ranking or position aboard the Enterprise, there was a 96.41% probably that Cad—Captain Kirk would ignore regulation and assign him a variety of tasks during the voyage back to Starfleet.

 

***

 

Despite the pain and confusion he felt permeating its hallways, the _Enterprise_ felt more comfortable than it had during the beginning of its disastrous virgin voyage. It wasn’t that Spock was ignoring the disharmony that haunted the ship. He just no longer felt that he must rise above his own emotional turmoil. Paradoxically, his heartbeat, breathing, and metabolic rates were quite even considering the circumstances. He hoped the other Vulcan survivors were faring as well as he was.

Traumatized cadets—newly promoted ensigns and Lieutenants—wondered the halls in wrinkled shirts of all three Starfleet colors. Some of them broadcasted a thin shell of grim determination that failed to mask their grief and anxiety. As Spock entered the sleek turbolift leading to the Captain’s Quarters, he thought most of them would not pass a basic Starfleet psychological test. His final recommendation to Starfleet would be to ground as many of the younger officers and recruits as they could so they had some time to deal with the trauma. It was possible that the Admiralty would not be receptive towards his advice. Due to the emotionalism rampant among humans, Spock was having troubling computing the probability that his advice would be taken into consideration. As he reached the Captain’s Quarters, he decided to offer the suggestion to Captain Kirk.

“Oh good, you’re here,” sighed the very same Captain after his door slid open. He glanced over his shoulder and continued to draw what looked liked timetables on the crystal board in Captain Pi—his office. Spock noted that Kirk was still wearing a plain black shirt with the Starfleet logo on its chest rather than a proper Captain’s tunic. “We hit a lucky break and managed to get through to the USS _Valiant_. Captain Dichaou has a spare warp core Scotty thinks he can modify to fit the Enterprise’s systems. She’s willing to donate some of the _Valiant’s_ rations too in case we somehow end up stranded anyway. We’ll rendezvous in about two hours.”

Spock was certain that anyone who didn’t understand Terran English would be having trouble understanding the Captain. The words were tumbling out of his mouth so quickly that the Universal Translator would have trouble determining when one syllable ended and the other one began. He turned towards Spock and raised his blond eyebrows before raising his left hand and biting his thumb. Judging by the read veins highlighting his bright blue eyes, he hadn’t enjoyed a full sleep cycle in some time. Spock was relieved to see that Lieutenant Commander McCoy had treated his injuries, bruises to his neck included.

“That is good news,” said Spock, remembering that Humans often expected the obvious to be voiced.

Captain Kirk nodded vigorously and Spock heard the sound of his teeth biting through his left thumb’s nail. “Bones says Pike’s going to live,” he said without taking his thumb out of his mouth. He then turned to the crystal board and started to write—scribble more figures. “We got the final count of Vulcan survivors.”

“How many?” asked Spock. Dimly, he realized that Kirk wanted permission to share the number with him.

“22,457 Vulcans,” answered Kirk, shooting Spock another brief glance. “14,530 are kids. The gender ratio is almost fifty-fifty, which is good for—anyway, the number’s almost double our initial estimates because two independent merchant cargo vessels got wind of Vulcan’s distress signal and actually responded. We’re— _Valiant’s_ mission is to meet with them and pick up the survivors.” Kirk suddenly stopped writing and whirled around. “Well?”

“I am grateful and relieved that more Vulcans than we initially expected have survived,” said Spock. He should be, at least. The truth was that the news had done little to alleviate the hole in his psyche.

“Right,” said Kirk, narrowing his eyes before beginning to pace in front of the white desk that dominated the Captain’s Office. _Jittery_. His mother would have called Kirk’s demeanor _jittery_. One of the many Terran words that didn’t have a Vulcan equivalent. “That’s why I need you here. The Vulcans are being . . . weird.”

“How so?” Spock could guess how, but he knew Humans expected constant verbal responses throughout a conversation. In fact, waiting for Humans to express everything they wanted to communicate in a concise oral report wasted a significant amount of time.

“At first we thought they—you— _they_ were handling it all Vulcan-y,” Kirk paused and frowned deeply for a moment, then resumed his pacing. “Not going to lie, it was kind of creepy how dried-eyed and expressionless they all were.”

“Vulcan facial musculature is not as versatile as Human facial musculature.” Kirk grunted.

“Give me a break, I crammed for comparative xenobiology!” He’d aced the course anyway—Spock had reviewed his academic record after the _Kobayashi Maru_ spectacle—which indicated that his emotional state was compromised enough to affect his memory. “Anyway,” continued Kirk. He frowned before his expression abruptly softened. As usual, Spock was fascinated by the highly expressive range of emotions Humans were capable of experiencing—and displaying on their faces—in a relatively miniscule amount of time.

“Yes?” prompted Spock.

“There’re not well,” he finally admitted, leaning against gleaming white desk and frowning at the floor. “Bones had to reject over five hundred request for assisted self-termination— _suicide!_ ” Kirk looked up and fixed Spock with a wide-eyed stare.

“I’m aware of what assisted self-termination entails,” said Spock.

“Not the point,” snapped Kirk. “How can they? They have to realize that every single Vulcan left . . .”

“Do you expect their new status as members of an endangered species to alleviate their psychological trauma?”

Kirk’s eyes widened again and he looked away after blood rushed to his face. Rationally, Spock knew that he didn’t intend to insult his fellow survivors. He was obviously suffering from trauma as well and his psychological profile did suggest that he would look upon peaceful self-termination with disdain despite his propensity for self-destructive behavior. But Spock was also suffering from sudden trauma. His human characteristics deserved as much leeway as Kirk’s.

“I’m sorry,” said Kirk, instantly making Spock regret his harsh tone. “It’s just . . . the kids. We don’t know what to do. Bones’ got them under constant surveillance after one of them stabbed his liver—heart.”

“The children know that the Federation does not grant minors of any species permission to self-terminate,” said Spock. Immediately afterwards, he realized that the words served no real purpose.

“Well, what do we _do_?” demanded Kirk.

“I do not know,” admitted Spock. “This situation is without precedent.”

“Well, we can’t be expected you to have an idea if we don’t have _precedent_ ,” snapped Kirk, voice dripping with derision.

“No,” agrees Spock tonelessly, mostly to see the Captain’s face twist into a fascinating mixture of rage, regret, and . . . _sympathy_ of all things. Had he always been able to decipher Human facial expressions with so much ease? “It’s most favorable that you are the new Captain. I have no doubt you’ll think of a solution. If you’ll excuse me, I must meditate.”

He left the Captain standing in front of his new board, looking lost, angry, and sorrowful. A part of him argued that it was his duty to try and help the Vulcan survivors. Vulcans required purpose in order to reinstate the certainty of logic into their psyche. But he wasn’t a Vulcan.

Absurdly, his mind was constructing a new research topic. Or perhaps recalling one he’d had a long time ago. He wanted a way to translate the vast array of Human facial expressions and gestures for the Vulcan survivors. As a child, he’d theorized that Humans had a complex mode of non-verbal communication to augment their highly contradictory, metaphorical, and simile-reliant language. His academic advisor had rejected the topic, citing Humans’ long history of bloody and vicious conflicts born out of miscommunications to dismiss the idea that their intra-communication mechanisms were anything other than rudimentary. Such a research study would never be published in a Vulcanoid journal, he’d assured Spock.

There were no Vulcanoid journals at the moment and if there were, Spock no longer felt an obligation to conform to their standards.


End file.
